Dennison Grant by Robert Stead

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health now gave no evidence of those experiences. Linder countedhimself lucky to carry only an empty sleeve.

They had fallen in with each other in France, and the friendshipplanted in the foothills of the range country had grown, throughthe strange prunings and graftings of war, into a tree of verysolid timber. Linder might have told you of the time his captainfound him with his arm crushed under a wrecked piece of artillery,and Grant could have recounted a story of being dragged unconsciousout of No Man's Land, but for either to dwell upon these mattersonly aroused the resentment of the other, and frequently led toexchanges between captain and sergeant totally incompatible withmilitary discipline. They were content to pay tribute to eachother, but each to leave his own honors unheralded.

"First thing is a place to eat," Grant remarked, when they had beendismissed. Words to similar effect had, indeed, been his firstremark upon every suitable opportunity for three months. Anappetite which has been four years in the making is not to besatisfied overnight, and Grant, being better fortified financiallyagainst the stress of a good meal, sought to be always first tosuggest it. Linder accepted the situation with the complacence ofa man who has been four years on army pay.

When they had eaten they took a walk through the old town--Grant'sold town. It looked as though he had stepped out of it yesterday;it was hard to realize that ages lay between. There are experienceswhich soak in slowly, like water into a log. The new elementsurrounds the body, but it may be months before it penetrates to theheart. Grant had some sense of that fact as he walked the oldfamiliar streets, apparently unchanged by all these cataclysmicdays. . . . In time he would come to understand. There was the nameplate of Barrett, Jones, Barrett, Deacon & Barrett. There had noteven been an addition to the firm. Here was the old Grant office,now used for some administration purpose. That, at least, was a movein the right direction.

They wandered along aimlessly while the sunset of an early summerevening marshalled its glories overhead. On a side street childrenplayed in the roadway; on a vacant spot a game of ball was inprogress. Women sat on their verandas and shot casual glancesafter them as they passed. Handsome pleasure cars glided about;there was a smell of new flowers in all the air.

"What do you make of it, mate?" said Grant at last.

Linder pulled slowly on his cigarette. Even his training as asergeant had not made him ready of speech, but when he spoke itwas, as ever, to the point.

"It's all so unnecessary," he commented at length.

"That's the way it gets me, too. So unnecessary. You see, whenyou get down to fundamentals there are only two things necessary--food and shelter. Everything else may be described as trimmings.We've been dealing with fundamentals so long---mighty barefundamentals at that--that all these trimmings seem just a littleirritating, don't you think?"

"Got any notion what you will do?" said Linder, when he had reachedthe middle of another cigarette.

"Not the slightest. I don't even know whether I'm rich or broke.I suppose if Jones and Murdoch are still alive they will be lookingafter those details. Doing their best, doubtless, to embarrass mewith additional wealth. What are YOU going to do?"

"Don't know. Maybe go back and work for Transley."

The mention of Transley threw Grant's mind back into old channels.He had almost forgotten Transley. He told himself he had quiteforgotten Zen Transley, but once he knew he lied. That was whenthey potted him in No Man's Land. As he lay there, waiting . . . .he knew he had not forgotten. And he had thought many times ofPhyllis Bruce. At first he had written to her, but she had notanswered his letters. Evidently she meant him to forget. Nor hadshe come to the station to welcome him home. Perhaps she did notknow. Perhaps-- Many things can happen in four years.

Suddenly it occurred to Grant that it might be a good idea to callon Phyllis. He would take Linder along. That would make it lesspersonal. He knew his man well enough to keep his own counsel, andeventually they reached the gate of the Bruce cottage, as though byaccident.

"Let's turn in here. I used to know these people. Mother anddaughter; very fine folk."

Linder looked for an avenue of retreat, but Grant barred his way,and together they went up the path. A strange woman, with a babyon her arm, met them at the door. Grant inquired for Mrs. Bruceand her daughter.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" said the woman. "I suppose you are justback. Well, it was a sad thing, but these have been sad times. Itwas when Hubert was killed I came here first. Poor dear, she tookthat to heart awful, and couldn't be left alone, and Phyllis wasworking in an office, so I came here part time to help out. Thenshe was just beginning to brace up again when we got the word aboutGrace. Grace, you know, was lost on a hospital ship. That was toomuch for her."

Grant received this information with a strange catching about theheart. There had been changes, after all.

"What became of Phyllis?" He tried to ask the question in an evenvoice.

"I moved into the house after Mrs. Bruce died," the womancontinued, "as my man came back discharged about that time.Phyllis tried to get on as a nurse, but couldn't manage it. Thenher office was moved to another part of the city and she took roomssomewhere. At first she came to see us often, but not lately. Isuppose she's trying to forget."

"Trying to forget," Grant muttered to himself. "How much of lifeis made up of trying to forget!"

Further questions brought no further information. The woman didn'tknow the firm for which Phyllis worked; she thought it had to dowith munitions. Suddenly Grant found himself impelled by atremendous desire to locate this girl. He would set about it atonce; possibly Jones or Murdoch could give him information.Strangely enough, he now felt that he would prefer to be rid ofLinder's company. This was a matter for himself alone. He tookLinder to an hotel, where they arranged for lodgings, and thenstarted on his search.

He located Murdoch without difficulty. It was now late, and theold clerk came down the stairs with inoffensive imprecations uponthe head of his untimely caller, but his mutterings soon gave wayto a cry of delight.

"My dear boy!" he exclaimed, embracing him. "My dear boy--excuseme, sir, I'm a blithering old man, but oh! sir--my boy, you're homeagain!" There was no doubting the depth of old Murdoch's welcome.He ran before Grant into the living-room and switched on thelights. In a moment he was back with his arm about the young man'sshoulder; he was with difficulty restraining caresses.

"Sit you down, Mr. Grant; here--this chair--it's easier. I mustget the women up. This is no night for sleeping. Why didn't yousend us word?"

"There is a tradition that official word is sent in advance," Granttried to explain.

"Aye, a tradition. There's a tradition that a Scotsman is a dourbody without any sentiment. Well--I must call the women."

He hurried up the stairs and Grant settled back into his chair.So this was the home of Murdoch, the man who really had earned aconsiderable part of the Grant fortune. He had never visitedMurdoch before; he had never thought of him in a domestic sense;Murdoch had always been to him a man of figures, of competentoffice routine, of almost too respectful deference. The light overthe centre table fell subdued through a pinkish shade; the cornersof the room lay in restful shadows; the comfortable furnitureshowed the marks of years. The walls suggested the need of newpaper; the well-worn carpet had been shifted more than once foreconomy's sake. Grant made a hasty appraisal of these conditions;possibly his old clerk was feeling the pinch of circumstances--

Murdoch, returning, led in his wife, a motherly woman who almostkissed the young soldier. In the welcome of her greeting it was amoment before Grant became aware of the presence of a fourth personin the room.

"I am very glad to see you safely back," said Phyllis Bruce. "Wehave all been thinking about you a great deal."

"Why, Miss--Phyllis! It was you I was looking for!" The frankconfession came before he had time to suppress it, and, having saidso much, it seemed better to finish the job.

"Yes, Phyllis is making her home with us now," Mrs. Murdochexplained. "It is more convenient to her work."

Grant wondered how much of this arrangement was due to Mrs.Murdoch's sympathy for the bereaved girl, and how much to theaddition which it made to the family income. No doubt bothconsiderations had contributed to it.

"I called at your old home," he continued. "I needn't say howdistressed I was to hear-- The woman could tell me nothing of you,so I came to Murdoch, hoping--"

"Yes," she said, simply, as though there were nothing more toexplain. Grant noticed that her eyes were larger and her cheekspaler than they had been, but the delight of her presence leaptabout him. Her hurried costume seemed to accentuate her beautydespite of all that war had done to destroy it. There was asilence which lengthened out. They were all groping for a footing.

Mrs. Murdoch met the situation by insisting that she would put onthe kettle, and Mr. Murdoch, in a burst of almost divineinspiration, insisted that his wife was quite incompetent to lightthe gas alone at that hour of the night. When the old folks hadshuffled into the kitchen Grant found himself standing close toPhyllis Bruce.

"Why didn't you answer my letters?" he demanded, plunging to theissue with the directness of his nature.

"Because I had promised to let you forget," she replied. There wasa softness in her voice which he had not noted in those bygonedays; she seemed more resigned and yet more poised; the strangewizardry of suffering had worked new wonders in her soul. Suddenly,as he looked upon her, he became aware of a new quality in PhyllisBruce--the quality of gentleness. She had added this to her uniqueself-confidence, and it had toned down the angularities of hercharacter. To Grant, straight from his long exile from fine womanlydomesticity, she suddenly seemed altogether captivating.

"But I didn't want to forget!" he insisted. "I wanted not toforget--YOU."

She could not misunderstand the emphasis he placed on that lastword, but she continued as though he had not interrupted.

"I knew you would write once or twice out of courtesy. I knew youwould do that. I made up my mind that if you wrote three times,then I would know you really wanted to remember me. . . . I didnot get any third letter."

"But how could I know that you had placed such a test--such anarbitrary measurement--upon my friendship?"

"It wasn't necessary for you to know. If you had cared--enough--you would have kept on writing."

He had to admit to himself that there was just enough truth in whatshe said to make her logic unanswerable. His delight in herpresence now did not alter the fact that he had found it quitepossible to live for four years without her, and it was true thatupon one or two great vital moments his mind had leapt, not toPhyllis Bruce, but to Zen Transley! He blushed at the recollection;it was an impossible situation, but it was true!

He was framing some plausible argument about honorable men notpersisting in a correspondence when Murdoch bustled in again.

"Mother is going to set the dining-room table," he announced, "andthe coffee will be ready presently. Well, sir, you do look well inuniform. You will be wondering how the business has gone?"

"Not half as much as I am wondering some other things," he said,with a significance intended for the ear of Phyllis. "You see--Iwas just talking it over with a pal to-day, a very good comradewhom I used to know in the West, and who pulled me out of No Man'sLand where I would have been lying yet if he hadn't thought more ofme than he did of himself--I was talking it over with him to-day,and we agreed that business isn't worth the effort. Fancy sittingbehind a desk, wondering about the stock market, when you've beenaccustomed to leaning up against a parapet wondering where the nextshell is going to burst! If that is not from the sublime to theridiculous, it is at least from the vital to the inconsequential.You can't expect men to take a jump like that."

"No, not as a jump," Murdoch agreed. "They'll have to move downgradually. But they must remember that life depends quite as muchon wheat-fields as it does on trenches, and that all the machineryof commerce and industry is as vital in its way as is the machineryof war. They must remember that, or instead of being at the end ofour troubles we will find ourselves at the beginning."

"I suppose," Grant conceded, "but it all seems so unnecessary. Nodoubt you have been piling up more money to be a problem to myconscience."

"Your peculiar conscience, I might almost correct, sir. Yourresponsibilities do seem to insist upon increasing. Following yourinstructions I put the liquid assets into Government bonds.Interest, even on Government bonds, has a way of working while yousleep. Then, you may remember, we were carrying a large load ofcertain steel stocks. These I did not dispose of at once, with theresult that they, in themselves, have made you a comfortablefortune."

"I suppose I should thank you for your foresight, Murdoch. I wasrather hoping you would lose my money and so relieve me of anembarrassing situation. What am I to do with it?"

"I don't know, sir, but I feel sure you will use it for some goodpurpose. I was glad to get as much of it together for you as Idid, because otherwise it might have fallen to people who wouldhave wasted it."

"Upon my word, Murdoch, that smacks of my own philosophy. Is itpossible even you are becoming converted?"

"Come, Mr. Grant; come, everybody!" a cheerful voice called frombehind the sliding doors which shut off the dining-room. Thefragrant smell of coffee was already in the air, and as Grant tookhis seat Mrs. Murdoch declared that for once she had decided todefy all the laws of digestion.

At the table their talk dribbled out into thin channels. It wasas though there were at hand a great reservoir of thought, ofexperience, of deep gropings into the very well-springs of life,which none of them dared to tap lest it should rush out andoverwhelm them. They seemed in some strange awe of its presence,and spoke, when they spoke at all, of trivial things. Grant proveduncommunicative, and perhaps, in a sense, disappointing. Hepreferred to forget both the glories and the horrors of war; whenhe drew on his experience at all it was to relate some humorousincident. That, it seemed, was all he cared to remember. He wasconscious of a restraint which hedged him about and hampered everymental deployment.

Phyllis, too, must have been conscious of that restraint, forbefore they parted she said something about human minds being likepianos, which get out of tune for lack of the master-touch. . . .

When Grant found himself in the street air again he was almostswallowed up in the rush of things which he might have said. Hismental machinery, which seemed to have been out of mesh,--came backinto adjustment with a jerk. He suddenly discovered that he couldthink; he could drive his mind from his own batteries. Insoldiering the mind is driven from the batteries of the rank higherup. The business of discipline is to make man an automatic machinerather than a thinking individual. It seemed to Grant that in thatmoment the machine part of him gave way and the individual wasrestored. In his case the change came in a moment; he had beenre-tuned; he was able to think logically in terms of civil life.He pieced together Murdoch's conversation. "Not as a jump," Murdochhad said, when he had argued that a man cannot emerge in a momentfrom the psychology of the trenches to that of the counting-house.Undoubtedly that would be true of the mass; they would experienceno instantaneous readjustment. . . .

There are moments when the mind, highly vitalized, reaches out intothe universe of thought and grasps ideas far beyond its consciousintention. All great thoughts come from uncharted sources ofinspiration, and it may be that the function of the mind is not tocreate thought, but only to record it. To do so it must be tunedto the proper key of receptivity. Grant had a consciousness, as hewalked along the deserted streets toward his hotel, that he was inthat key; the quietness, the domesticity of Murdoch's home, theloveliness of Phyllis Bruce, had, for the moment at least, shut outa background of horror and lifted his thought into an exaltedplane. He paused at a bridge to lean against the railing and watchthe trembling reflection of city lights in the river.

"I have it!" he suddenly exclaimed to the steel railing. "I haveit!"

He paused for a moment to turn over his thought, as though to makesure it should not escape. Then, at a pace which aroused thewondering glance of one or two placid policemen, he hurried to thehotel.

Linder and Grant had been assigned to the same room, and thesergeant's dreams, if he dreamt at all, were of the sweet haymeadows of the West. Grant turned on the light and looked downinto the face of his friend. A smile, born of fields afar fromwar's alarms, was playing about his lips. Even in his excitementGrant could not help reflecting what a wonderful thing it is tosleep in peace. Then--

"I have it!" he shouted. "Linder, I have it!"

The sergeant sat up with a start, blinking.

"I have it!" Grant repeated.

"THEM, you mean," said Linder, suddenly awake. "Why, man, what'swrong with you? You're more excited than if we were just goingover the top."

"I've got my great idea. I know what I'm going to do with mymoney."

"Well, don't do it to-night," Linder protested. "Someone has tosettle for this dug-out in the morning."

"We're leaving for the West to-morrow, Linder, old scout. Everybodywill say we're crazy, but that's a good sign. They've said thatof every reformer since--"

But Linder was again sleeping the sleep of a man four years inFrance.

CHAPTER XV

The window was grey with the light of dawn before Grant's mind hadcalmed down enough for sleep. When Linder awoke him it was noon.

"You sleep well on your Big Idea," was his comment.

"No better than you did last night," retorted Grant, springing outof bed. "Let me see . . . . yes, I still have it clearly. I'lltell you about it sometime, if you can stay awake. When do weeat?"

"Now, or as soon as you are presentable. I've a notion to give youthree days' C.B. for appearing on parade in your pyjamas."

"Make it a cash fine, Sergeant, old dear, and pay it out of whatyou owe me. Now that that is settled order up a decent meal. I'llbe shaved and dressed long before it arrives. You know this is afirst-class hotel, where prompt service would not be tolerated."

As they ate together Grant showed no disposition to discuss whatLinder called his Big Idea, nor yet to give any satisfaction inresponse to his companion's somewhat pointed references as to hisdoings of the night before.

"There are times, Linder," he said, "when my soul craves solitude.You, being a sergeant, and therefore having no soul, will not beable to understand that longing for contemplation--"

"It's all right," said Linder. "I don't want her."

"Furthermore," Grant continued, "to-night I mean to resume mysoliloquies, and your absence will be much in demand."

"The supply will be equal to the demand."

"Good! Here are some morsels of money. If you will buy ourrailway tickets and settle with the chief extortionist downstairs Iwill join you at the night train going west."

Linder sprang to attention, gave a salute in which mock deferencecould not entirely obscure the respect beneath, and set about onhis commissions, while Grant devoted the afternoon to a sessionwith Murdoch and Jones, to neither of whom would he reveal hisplans further than to say he was going west "to engage in somedevelopment work." During the afternoon it was noted that Grant'sinterest centred more in a certain telephone call than in the verygratifying financial statement which Murdoch was able to placebefore him. And it was probably as a result of that telephone callthat a taxi drew up in front of Murdoch's home at exactly six-thirty that evening and bore Miss Phyllis Bruce and an officerwearing a captain's uniform in the direction of the best hotel inthe city.

The dining-room was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and softstrains of music stole vagrantly about its high arching pillars,mingling with the chatter of lovely women and of men to whomexpense was no consideration. Grant was conscious of a delicioussense of intimacy as he helped Phyllis remove her wraps and seatedhimself by her at a secluded corner table.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "I don't make compliments for exercise,but you do look stunning to-night!"

A warmth of color lit up her cheek--he had noticed at Murdoch's howpale she was--and her eyes laughed back at him with some of theirold-time vivacity.

"I am so glad," she said. "It seems almost like old times--"

They gave their orders, and sat in silence through an overture.Grant was delighting himself simply in her presence, and guessedthat for her part she could not retract the confession her love hadwrung from her so long ago.

"There are some things which don't change, Phyllis," he said, whenthe orchestra had ceased.

She looked back at him with eyes moist and dreamy. "I know," shemurmured.

There seemed no reason why Grant should not there and then havelaid himself, figuratively, at her feet. And there was not anyreason--only one. He wanted first to go west. He almost hopedthat out there some light of disillusionment would fall about him;that some sudden experience such as he had known the night beforewould readjust his personality in accordance with the inevitable. . .

"I asked you to dine with me to-night," he heard himself saying,"for two reasons: first, for the delight of your exquisitecompanionship; and second, because I want to place before youcertain business plans which, to me at least, are of the greatestimportance.

"You know the position which I have taken with regard to thespending of money, that one should not spend on himself or hisfriends anything but his own honest earnings for which he has givenhonest service to society. I have seen no reason to change myposition. On the contrary the war has strengthened me in myconvictions. It has brought home to me and to the world the factthat heroism is a flower which grows in no peculiar soil, and thatit blossoms as richly among the unwashed and the underfed as amongthe children of fortune. This fact only aggravates the extremes ofwealth and poverty, and makes them seem more unjust than ever.

"For myself I have accepted this view, but our financial system isfounded upon very different ethics. I wonder if you have everthought of the fact that when the barons at Runnymede laid thefoundations of democratic government for the world they overlookedthe almost equally important matter of creating a democratic systemof finance. Well--let's not delve into that now. The point isthat under our present system we do acquire wealth which we do notearn, and the only thing to be done for the time being is to treatthat wealth as a trust to be managed for the benefit of humanity.That is what I call the new morality as applied to money, althoughit is not so new either. It can be traced back at least nineteenhundred years, and all our philanthropists, great and little, havesurely caught some glimpse of that truth, unless, perhaps, theygave their alms that they might have honor of men. But givingone's money away does not solve the problem; it pauperizes therecipient and delays the evolution of new conditions in whichpresent injustices would be corrected. I hope you are able tofollow me?"

"Perfectly. It is easy for me, who have nothing to lose, to followyour logic. You will have more trouble convincing those whosepockets it would affect."

"I am not so sure of that. Humanity is pretty sound at heart, butwe can't abandon the boat we're on until we have another that isproven seaworthy. However, it seems to me that I have found asolution which I can apply in my individual case. Have you thoughtwhat are the three greatest needs, commercially speaking, of thepresent day?"

"Production, I suppose, is the first."

"Yes--most particularly production of food. And the others arecorollary to it. They are instruction and opportunity. I amthinking especially of returned men."

"Production--instruction--opportunity," she repeated. "How are yougoing to bring them about?"

"That is my Big Idea, as Linder calls it, although I have not yetconfided in him what it is. Well--the world is crying for food,and in our western provinces are millions of acres which have neverfelt the plow--"

"In the East, too, for that matter."

"I know, but I naturally think of the West. I propose to form acompany and buy a large block of land, cut it up into farms, buildhouses and community centres, and put returned men and theirfamilies on these farms, under the direction of specialists inagriculture. I shall break up the rectangular survey of the Westfor something with humanizing possibilities; I mean to supplant itwith a system of survey which will permit of settlement in groups--villages, if you like--where I shall instal all the modernconveniences of the city, including movie shows. Our statesmen arenever done lamenting that population continues to flow from thecountry to the city, but the only way to stop that flow is to makethe country the more attractive of the two."

"But your company--who are to be the shareholders?"

"That is the keystone of the Big Idea. There never before was acompany like this will be. In the first place, I shall put up allthe money myself. Then, when I have prepared a farm ready toreceive a man and his family, I will sell him shares equivalent tothe value of his farm, and give him a perpetual lease, subject tocertain restrictions. Let me illustrate. Suppose you are theprospective shareholder. I say, Miss Bruce, I can place you on afarm worth, with buildings and equipment, ten thousand dollars. Ido not ask any cash from you; not a cent, but I want you tosubscribe for ten thousand dollars stock in my company. That willmake you a shareholder. When the farm begins to produce you are tohave all you and your family--this is an illustration, you know--can consume for your own use. The balance is to be sold, and one-third of the proceeds is to be paid into the treasury of thecompany and credited on your purchase of shares. When you havepaid for all your shares in this way you will have no furtherpayments to make, except such levy as may be made by the companyfor running expenses. You, as a shareholder of the company, willhave a voice with the other shareholders in determining what thatlevy shall be. You and your descendents will be allowed possessionof that farm forever, subject only to your obeying the rules of thecompany. You--"

"But why the company? It simply amounts to buying the land onpayments to be made out of each year's crop, except that you wantme to pay for shares in the company instead of for the landitself."

"That, as I told you, is the keystone of my Big Idea. If I soldyou the land you would be master of it; you could do as you likedwith it. You could let it lie idle; you could allow your buildingsand machinery to get out of repair; you could keep scrub stock; allyour methods of husbandry might be slovenly or antiquated; youcould even rent or sell the land to someone who might be morally orsocially undesirable in the community. On the other hand you mightbe peculiarly successful, when you would proceed to buy out yourless successful neighbors, or make loans on their land, and thuscreate yourself a land monopolist. But as a shareholder in thecompany you will be subject to the rules laid down by the company.If it says that houses must be painted every four years you willpaint your house every fourth year. If it rules that hayracks arenot to be left on the front lawn you will have to deposit yourssomewhere else. If it orders that crops must be rotated to preservethe fertility of the soil you will obey those instructions. If youdo not like the regulations you can use your influence with theboard of directors to have them changed. If you fail there you cansell your shares to someone else--provided you can find a purchaseracceptable to the board--and get out. The Big Idea is that thecommunity--the company in this case--shall control the individual,and the individual shall exert his proper measure of control overthe community. The two are interlocked and interdependent, eachexerting exactly the proper amount of power and acceptingproportionate responsibility."

"But have you provided against the possibility of one man or agroup of men buying up a majority of the stock and so controllingthe company? They could then freeze out the smaller owners."

"Yes," said Grant, toying with his coffee, "I have made a provisionfor that which I think is rather ingenious. Don't imagine thatthis all came to me in a moment. The central thought struck melast night on my way home, and I knew then I had the embryo of theplan, but I lay awake until daylight working out details. I amgoing to allot votes on a very unique principle. It seems to methat a man's stake in a country should be measured, not by theamount of money he has, but by the number of mouths he has to feed.I will adopt that rule in my company, and the voting will beaccording to the number of children in the family. That shouldcurb the ambitious."

They laughed over this proviso, and Phyllis agreed that it was alla very wonderful plan. "And when they have paid for all theirshares you get your money back," she commented.

"Oh, no. I don't want my money back. I didn't explain that toyou. I will advance the money on the bonds of the company, withoutinterest. Suppose I am able to finance a hundred farms that way,then as the payments come in, still more farms. The thing willspread like a ripple in a pool, until it covers the whole country.When you turn a sum of money loose, WITH NO INTEREST CHARGEATTACHED TO IT, there is no limit to what it can accomplish."

"But what will you do with your bonds, eventually? They will beperfectly secured. I don't see that you are getting rid of yourmoney at all, except the interest, which you are giving away."

"That, Phyllis, is where autocracy and democracy meet. Allprogress is like the swinging of a pendulum, with autocracy at oneend of the arc and democracy at the other, and progress is the meanof their opposing forces. But there are times when the mostdemocratic countries have to use autocratic methods, as, forexample, Great Britain and the United States in the late war. Wemust learn to make autocracy the servant of democracy, not itsenemy. Well--I'm going to be the autocrat in this case. I amgoing to sit behind the scenes and as long as my company functionsall right I will leave it alone, but if it shows signs of wreckingitself I will assume the role of the benevolent despot and set itto rights again. Oh, Phyllis, don't you see? It's not just MYcompany I'm thinking about. This is an experiment, in which mycompany will represent the State. If it succeeds I shall turn thewhole machinery over to the State as my contribution to thebetterment of humanity. If it fails--well, then I shall havedemonstrated that the idea is unsound. Even that is worthsomething.

"I like to think of the great inventors, experimenting with themysterious forces of nature. Their business is to find the naturallaws that govern material things. And I am quite sure that thereare also natural laws designed to govern man in his social andeconomic relationships, and when those laws have been discoveredthe impossibilities of to-day will become the common practiceof to-morrow, just as steam and electricity have made theimpossibilities of yesterday the common practice of to-day. Thefirst need is to find the law, and to what more worthy purposecould a man devote himself? When I landed here yesterday--when Iwalked again through these old streets--I was a being withoutpurpose; I was like a battery that had dried up. All these pettyaffairs of life seemed so useless, so humdrum, so commonplace, Iknew I could never settle down to them again. Then last night fromsome unknown source came a new idea--an inspiration--and presto!the battery is re-charged, life again has its purposes, and I ameager to be at work.

"I said 'some unknown source,' but it was not altogether unknown.It had something to do with honest old Murdoch, and his good wifepouring coffee for the midnight supper in their cozy dining-room,and Phyllis Bruce across the table! We never know, Phyllis, howmuch we owe to our friends; to that charmed circle, be it ever sosmall, in which every note strikes in harmony. I know my Big Ideais only playing on the surface; only skimming about the edges.What the world needs is just friends."

Grant had talked himself out, but he continued to sit at the littletable, reveling in the happiness of a man who feels that he hasbeen called to some purpose worth while. His companion hesitatedto interrupt his thoughts; her somewhat drab business experiencemade her pessimistic toward all idealism, and yet she felt thathere, surely, was a man who could carry almost any project throughto success. The unique quality in him, which distinguished himfrom any other man she had ever known, was his completeunselfishness. In all his undertakings he coveted no reward forhimself; he was seeking only the common good.

"If all men were like you there would be no problems," shemurmured, and while he could not accept the words quite at parthey rang very pleasantly in his ears.

A movement among the diners reminded him of the flight of time, andwith a glance at his watch he sprang up in surprise. "I had noidea the evening had gone!" he exclaimed. "I have just time to seeyou home and get back to catch my train."

He called a taxi and accompanied her into it. They seatedthemselves together, and the fragrance of her presence was verysweet about him. It would have been so easy to forget--all that hehad been trying to forget--in the intoxication of such environment.Surely it was not necessary that he should go west--that he shouldsee HER again--in order to be sure.

"Phyllis," he breathed, "do you imagine I could undertake thesethings if I cared only for myself--if it were not that I longed forsomeone's approval--for someone to be proud of me? The strongestman is weak enough for that, and the strongest man is stronger whenhe knows that the woman he loves--"

He would have taken her in his arms, but she resisted, gently,firmly.

"You have made me think too much of you, Dennison," she whispered.

CHAPTER XVI

On the way west Grant gradually unfolded his plan to Linder, whoaccepted it with his customary stoicism.

"I'm not very strong for a scheme that hasn't got any profits init," Linder confessed. "It doesn't sound human."

"I don't notice that you have ever figured very high in profits onyour own account," Grant retorted. "Your usefulness has been inmaking them for other people. I suppose if I would let you help toswell my bank account you would work for me for board and lodging,but as I refuse to do that I shall have to pay you three timesTransley's rate. I don't know what he paid you, but I suspect thatfor every dollar you earned for yourself you earned two for him, soI am going to base your scale accordingly. You are to go on withthe physical work at once; buy the horses, tractors, machinery;break up the land, fence it, build the houses and barns; in short,you are to superintend everything that is done with muscle or itssubstitute. I will bring Murdoch out shortly to take charge of theclerical details and the general organization. As for myself,after I have bought the land and placed the necessary funds to thecredit of the company I propose to keep out of the limelight. Iwill be the heart of the undertaking; Murdoch will be the head, andyou are to be the hands, and I hope you two conspirators won't giveme palpitation. You think it a mistake to work without profits,but Murdoch thinks it a sin. When I lay my plans before him I amquite prepared to hear him insist upon calling in an alienist."

"I'm going to buy a half section of my own, and I'm going to startmyself on it on identically the same terms that I offer to theshareholders in my company. I want to prove by my own experiencethat it can be done, but I must keep away from the company. Humannature is a clinging vine at best, and I don't want it clingingabout me. You will notice that my plan, unlike most communisticor socialist ventures, relieves the individual of no atom ofresponsibility. I give him the opportunity, but I put it up to himto make good with that opportunity. I have not overlooked the factthat a man is a man, and never can be made quite into a machine."

The two friends discussed at great length the details of the BigIdea, and upon arrival in the West Linder lost no time in preparingblue-prints and charts descriptive of the improvements to be madeon the land and the order in which the work was to be carried on.Grant bought a tract suitable to his purpose, and the wheels of themachine which was to blaze a path for the State were set in motion.When this had been done Grant turned to the working out of his ownindividual experiment.

During the period in which these arrangements were being made itwas inevitable that Grant should have heard more or less ofTransley. He had not gone out of his way to seek information ofthe contractor, but it rather had been forced upon him. Transley'sname was frequently heard in the offices of the business men withwhom he had to do; it was mentioned in local papers with theregularity peculiar to celebrities in comparatively small centres.Transley, it appeared, had become something of a power in the land.Backed by old Y.D.'s capital he had carried some rather daringventures through to success. He had seized the panicky momentsfollowing the outbreak of the war to buy heavily on the wheat andcattle markets, and increases in prices due to the world's demandfor food had made him one of the wealthy men of the city. Thedesire of many young farmers to enlist had also afforded anopportunity to acquire their holdings for small considerations, andTransley had proved his patriotism by facilitating the ambitions ofas many men in this position as came to his attention. The factthat even before the war ended the farms which he acquired in thisway were worth several times the price he paid was only an incidentin the transactions.

But no word of Transley's domestic affairs reached Grant, who toldhimself that he had ceased to be interested in them, but kept analert ear nevertheless. It would seem that Transley rathereclipsed his wife in the public eye.

So Grant set about with the development of his own farm, and kepthis mind occupied with it and with his larger experiment--exceptwhen it went flirting with thoughts of Phyllis Bruce. He wasrather proud of the figure he had used to Linder, of the head,hands, and heart of his organization, but to himself he admittedthat that figure was incomplete. There was a soul as well, andthat soul was the girl whose inspiring presence had in some wayjerked his mind out of the stagnant backwaters in which the war hadleft it. There was no doubt of that. He had written to Murdoch tocome west and undertake new work for him. He had intimated thatthe change would be permanent, and that it might be well to bringthe family. . . .

He selected a farm where a ridge of foothills overlooked a broadvalley receding into the mountains. The dealer had no idea ofselling him this particular piece of land; they were bound for ahalf section farther up the slope when Grant stopped on the brow ofthe hill to feast his eyes on the scene that lay before him. Itburst upon him with the unexpectedness peculiar to the foothillvalleys; miles of gently undulating plain, lying apparently farbelow, but in reality rising in a sharp ascent toward the snow-capped mountains looking down silently through their gauze of blue-purple afternoon mist. At distances which even his trained eyewould not attempt to compute lay little round lakes like silvercoins on the surface of the prairie; here and there were dark greenbluffs of spruce; to the right a ribbon of river, blue-green savewhere the rapids churned it white, and along its edge a fringe ofleafy cottonwoods; at vast intervals square black plots of plowedland like sections on a chess-board of the gods, and farm buildingscut so clear in the mountain atmosphere that the sense of space waslost and they seemed like child-houses just across the way.

Grant turned to his companion with an animation in his face whichalmost startled the prosaic dealer in real estate.

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "We don't need to go anyfarther if you can sell me this."

"Sure I can sell you this," said the dealer, looking at himsomewhat queerly. "That is, if you want it. I thought you werelooking for a wheat farm."

The man's total lack of appreciation irritated Grant unreasonably."Wheat makes good hog fodder," he retorted, "but sunsets keep alivethe soul. What is the price?"

Again the dealer gave him a queer sidelong look, and made as thoughto argue with him, then suddenly seemed to change his purpose.Perhaps he reflected that strange things happened to the boysoverseas.

"I'll get you the price in town," he said. "You are sure it willsuit?"

"Suit? No king in Christendom has his palace on a site like this.I'd go round the world for it."

"You're the doctor," said the dealer, turning his car.

Grant completed the purchase, ordered lumber for a house and barn,and engaged a carpenter to superintend the construction. It wasone of his whims that he would do most of the work himself.

"I guess I'm rather a man of whims," he reflected, as he stood onthe brow of the hill where the material for his buildings had beendelivered. "It was a whim which first brought me west, and a whimwhich has brought me west again. I have a whim about my money, awhim about my farm, a whim about my buildings. I do not do asother people do, which is the unpardonable sin. To Linder I am ajester, to Murdoch a fanatic, to our friend the real estate dealera fool; I even noticed my honest carpenter trying to ask mesomething about shell shock! Well--they're MY whims, and I get animmense amount of satisfaction out of them."

The days that followed were the happiest Grant had known sincechildhood. The carpenter, a thin, twisted man, bowed with muchlabor at the bench, and answering to the name Peter, sold hisservices by the day and manifested a sympathy amounting to anindulgence toward the whims of his employer. So long as the wageswere sure Peter cared not whether the house was finished this yearor next--or not at all. He enjoyed Grant's cooking in thetemporary work-shed they had built; he enjoyed Grant's stories offunny incidents of the war which would crop out at unexpectedmoments, and which were always good for a new pipe and a fewminutes' rest; he even essayed certain flights of his own, whichshowed that Peter was a creature not entirely without humor. Hedeveloped an appreciation of scenery; he would stand for longintervals gazing across the valley. Grant was not deceived bythese little devices, but he never took Peter to task for hisloitering. He was prepared almost to suspend his rule that moneymust not be paid except for service rendered. "If the old dodgerisn't quite paying his way now, no doubt he has more than paid itmany times in the past," he mused. "This is an occasion upon whichto temper justice with mercy."

But it was in the planning and building of the house he found hisreal delight. He laid it out on very modest lines, as became theamount of money he was prepared to spend. It was to be a single-story bungalow, with veranda round the south and west. The living-room ran across the south side; into its east wall he built acapacious fireplace, with narrow slits of windows to right andleft, and in the western wall were deep French windows commandingthe magic of the view across the valley. The dining-room, too,faced to the west, with more French windows to let in sun and soul.The kitchen was to the east, and off the kitchen lay Grant'sbedroom, facing also to the east, as becomes a man who rises earlyfor his day's labors. And then facing the west, and opening offthe dining-room, was what he was pleased to call his whim-room.

The idea of the whim-room came upon him as he was working out planson the smooth side of a board, and thinking about things ingeneral, and a good deal about Phyllis Bruce, and wondering if heshould ever run across Zen Transley. It struck him all of asudden, as had the Big Idea that night when he was on his way homefrom Murdoch's house. He worked it out surreptitiously, notallowing even old Peter to see it until he had made it into hisplan, and then he described it just as the whim-room. But it wasto be by all means the best room in the house; special finishingand flooring lumber were to be bought for it; the fireplace had tobe done in a peculiarly delicate tile; the French windows must behigh and wide and of the most brilliant transparency. . . .

The ring of the saw, the trill of the plane, the thwack of thehammer, were very pleasant music in his ears. Day by day hewatched his dwelling grow with the infinite joy of creating, andnight after night he crept with Peter into the work-shed and sleptthe sleep of a man tired and contented. In the long summerevenings the sunlight hung like a champagne curtain over themountains even after bedtime, and Grant had to cut a hole in thewall of the shed that he might watch the dying colors of the dayfade from crimson to purple to blue on the tassels of cloud-wraithfloating in the western sky. At times Linder and Murdoch wouldvisit him to report progress on the Big Idea, and the three wouldsit on a bench in the half-built house, sweet with the fragrance ofnew sawdust, and smoke placidly while they determined matters ofpolicy or administration. It had been something of a disappointmentto Grant that Murdoch had not considered Phyllis Bruce one of "thefamily." He had left her, regretfully, in the East, but had madeprovision that she was still to have her room in the old Murdochhome.

"Phyllis would have come west, and gladly, if I could have promisedher a position," Murdoch explained, "but I could not do that, as Iknew nothing of your plans, and a girl can't afford to trifle withher job these days, Mr. Grant."

And Grant said nothing, but he thought of his whim-room, andsmiled.

Grant was almost sorry when the house was finished. "There's somuch more enjoyment in doing things than in merely possessing themafter they're done," he philosophized to Linder. "I think thatmust be the secret of the peculiar fascination of the West. TheEast, with all its culture and conveniences and beauty, can neverwin a heart which has once known the West. That is because in theEast all the obvious things are done, but in the West they arestill to do."

"You should worry," said Linder. "You still have the plowing."

"Yes, and as soon as the stable is finished I am going to buy fourhorses and get to work."

"I supposed you would use a tractor."

"Not this time. I can admire a piece of machinery, but I can'tlove it. I can love horses."

"You'll be housing them in the whim-room," Linder remarked dryly,and had to jump to escape the hammer which his chief shied at him.

But the plowing was really a great experience. Grant had an eyefor horse-flesh, and the four dapple-greys which pressed their fineshoulders into the harness of his breaking plow might havedelighted the heart of any teamster. As he sat on his steel seatand watched the colter cut the firm sod with brittle cracking soundas it snapped the tough roots of the wild roses, or looking backsaw the regular terraces of shiny black mould which marked hisprogress, he felt that he was engaged in a rite of almostsacramental significance.

"To take a substance straight from the hand of the Creator and bethe first in all the world to impose a human will upon it is surelyan occasion for solemnity and thanksgiving," he soliloquized. "Howcan anyone be so gross as to see only materialism in such work asthis? Surely it has something of fundamental religion in it! Justas from the soil springs all physical life, may it not be that deepdown in the soil are, some way, the roots of the spiritual? Thesoil feeds the city in two ways; it fills its belly with materialfood, and it is continually re-vitalizing its spirit with freshstreams of energy which can come only from the land. Up from thesoil comes all life, all progress, all development--"

At that moment Grant's plowshare struck a submerged boulder, and hewas dumped precipitately into that element which he had been sogenerously apostrophizing. The well-trained horses came to a stopas he gathered himself up, none the worse, and regained his seat.

"That WAS a spill," he commented. "Ditched not only myself, but mywhole train of thought. Never mind; perhaps I was dangerouslyclose to the development of a new whim, and I am well supplied inthat particular already. Hello, whom have we here?"

The horses had come to a stop a short distance before the end ofthe furrow, and Grant, glancing ahead, saw immediately in front ofthem a little chap of four or five obstructing the way. He stoodastride of the furrow with widespread legs bridging the distancefrom the virgin prairie to the upturned sod. He was hatless, andcurls of silky yellow hair fell about his round, bright face. Hishands were stuck obtrusively in his trouser pockets.

"Well, son, what's the news?" said Grant, when the two had measuredeach other for a moment.

"I got braces," the boy replied proudly. "Don't you see?"

"Why, so you have!" Grant exclaimed. "Come around here until I seethem better."

So encouraged, the little chap came skipping around the horses, andexhibited his braces for Grant's admiration. But he had alreadybecome interested in another subject.

"Are these your horses?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"Will they bite?"

"Why, no, I don't believe they would. They have been very wellbrought up."

"What do you call them?"

"This one is Prince, on the left, and the others are Queen, andKing, and Knave. I call him Knave because he's always scheming,trying to get out of his share of the work, and I make him walk onthe plowed land, too."

"That serves him right," the boy declared. "What's your name?"

"Why--what's yours?"

"Wilson."

"Wilson what?"

"Just Wilson."

"What does your mother call you?"

"Just Wilson. Sometimes daddy calls me Bill."

"Oh!"

"What's your name?"

"Call me The Man on the Hill."

"Do you live on the hill?"

"Yes."

"Is that your house?"

"Yes."

"Did you make it?"

"Yes."

"All yourself?"

"No. Peter helped me."

"Who's Peter?"

"He is the man who helped me."

"Oh!"

These credentials exchanged, the boy fell silent, while Grantlooked down upon him with a whimsical admixture of humor andtenderness. Suddenly, without a word, the boy dashed as fast ashis legs could carry him to the end of the field, and plunged intoa clump of bushes. In a moment he emerged with something brown andchubby in his arms.

"He's my teddy," he said to Grant. "He was watching in the bushesto see if you were a nice man."

"And am I?" Grant was tempted to ask.

"Yes." There was no evasion about Wilson. He approved of his newacquaintance, and said so.

"Let us give teddy a ride on Prince?"

"Let's!"

Grant carefully arranged teddy on the horse's hames, and the boyclapped his hands with delight.

"Now let us all go for a ride. You will sit on my knee, and teddywill drive Prince."

He took the boy carefully on his knee, driving with one hand andholding him in place with the other. The little body restingconfidently against his side was a new experience for Grant.

"We must drive carefully," he remarked. "Here and there are bigstones hidden in the grass. If we were to hit one it might dump usoff."

The little chap chuckled. "Nothing could dump you off," he said.

Grant reflected that such implicit and unwarranted confidenceimplied a great responsibility, and he drove with correspondingcare. A mishap now might nip this very delightful little bud ofhero-worship.

They turned the end of the furrow with a fine jingle of loosetrace-chains, and Prince trotted a little on account of being onthe outer edge of the semicircle. The boy clapped his hands againas teddy bounced up and down on the great shoulders.

"Have you a little boy?" he asked, when they were started again.

"Why, no," Grant confessed, laughing at the question.

"Why?"

There was no evading this childish inquisitor. He had a way ofpursuing a subject to bedrock.

"Well, you see, I've no wife."

"No mother?"

"No--no wife. You see--"

"But I have a mother--"

"Of course, and she is your daddy's wife. You see they have tohave that--"

Grant found himself getting into deep water, but the sharp littleintellect had cut a corner and was now ahead of him.

"Then I'll be your little boy," he said, and, clambering up toGrant's shoulder pressed a kiss on his cheek. In a sudden burst ofemotion Grant brought his team to a stop and clasped the littlefellow in both his arms. For a moment everything seemed misty.

"And I have lived to be thirty-two years old and have never knownwhat this meant," he said to himself.

"Daddy's hardly ever home, anyway," the boy added, naively.

"Where is your home?"

"Down beside the river. We live there in summer."

And so the conversation continued and the acquaintanceship grew asman and boy plied back and forth on their mile-long furrow. Atlength it occurred to Grant that he should send Wilson home; theboy's long absence might be occasioning some uneasiness. Theystopped at the end of the field and carefully removed teddy fromhis place of prestige, but just at that moment a horsefly buzzingabout caused Prince to stamp impatiently, and the big hoof camedown on the boy's foot. Wilson sent up a cry proportionate to thepossibilities of the occasion, and Grant in alarm tore off the bootand stocking. Fortunately the soil had been soft, and the onlydamage done was a slight bruise across the upper part of the foot.

"There, there," said Grant, soothingly, caressing the injury withhis fingers. "It will be all right in a minute. Prince didn'tmean to do it, and besides, I've seen much worse than that at thewar."

At the mention of war the boy suspended a cry half uttered.

"Were you at the war?" he demanded.

"Yes."

"Did you kill a German?"

"I've seen a German killed," said Grant, evading a question whichno soldier cares to discuss.

"Did you kill 'em in the tummy?" the boy persisted.

"We'll talk about that to-morrow. Now you hop up on to myshoulders, and I'll tie the horses and then carry you home."

He followed the boy's directions until they led him to a pathrunning among pleasant trees down by the river. Presently hecaught a glimpse of a cottage in a little open space, its brownshingled walls almost smothered in a riot of sweet peas.

"That's our house. Don't you like it?" said the boy, who hadalready forgotten his injury.

"I think it is splendid." And Grant, taking his young charge fromhis shoulder, stepped up on to the porch and knocked at the screendoor.

In a moment it was opened by Zen Transley.

CHAPTER XVII

Sitting on his veranda that evening while the sun dropped low overthe mountains and the sound of horses munching contentedly came upfrom the stables, Grant for the twentieth time turned over in hismind the events of a day that was to stand out as an epochal one inhis career. The meeting with the little boy and the quickfriendship and confidence which had been formed between them; themishap, and the trip to the house by the river--these were logicaland easily followed. But why, of all the houses in the world,should it have been Zen Transley's house? Why, of all the littleboys in the world, should this have been the son of his rival andthe only girl he had ever--the girl he had loved most in all hislife? Surely events are ordered to some purpose; surely everythingis not mere haphazard chance! The fatalism of the trenches forbadeany other conclusion; and if this was so, why had he been throwninto the orbit of Zen Transley? He had not sought her; he had notdreamt of her once in all that morning while her child was windinginnocent tendrils of affection about his heart. And yet--how theboy had gripped him! Could it be that in some way he was a smallincarnation of the Zen of the Y.D., with all her clamorous passionexpressed now in childish love and hero-worship? Had someintelligence above his own guided him into this environment,deliberately inviting him to defy conventions and blaze a path ofbroader freedom for himself, and for her? These were questions hewrestled with as the shadows crept down the mountain slopes andalong the valley at his feet.

For neither Zen nor himself had connived at the situation which hadmade them, of all the people in the world, near neighbors in thissilent valley. Her surprise on meeting him at the door had been asgenuine as his. When she had made sure that the boy was notseriously hurt she had turned to him, and instinctively he hadknown that there are some things which all the weight of passingyears can never crush entirely dead. He loved to rehearse herwords, her gestures, the quick play of sympathetic emotions as oneby one he reviewed them.

"You! I am surprised--I had not known--" She had become confusedin her greeting, and a color that she would have given worlds tosuppress crept slowly through her cheeks.

"I am surprised, too--and delighted," he had returned. "The littleboy came to me in the field, boasting of his braces." Then theyhad both laughed, and she had asked him to come in and tell abouthimself.

The living-room, as he recalled it, was marked by the simplicityappropriate to the summer home, with just a dash of elegance in thefurnishings to suggest that simplicity was a matter of choice andnot of necessity. After soothing Wilson's sobs, which had brokenout afresh in his mother's arms, she had turned him over to a maidand drawn a chair convenient to Grant's.

"You see, I am a farmer now," he had said, apologetically regardinghis overalls.

"What changes have come! But I don't understand; I thought youwere rich--very rich--and that you were promoting some kind ofsettlement scheme. Frank has spoken of it."

"All of which is true. You see, I am a man of whims. I choose tolive joyously. I refuse to fit into a ready-made niche in society.I do what other people don't do--mainly for that reason. I havesome peculiar notions--"

"I know. You told me." And it was then that their eyes had metand they had fallen into a momentary silence.

"But why are you farming?" she had exclaimed, brightly.

"For several reasons. First, the world needs food. Food is thegreatest safeguard--I would almost say the only safeguard--againstanarchy and chaos. Then, I want to learn by experience; to proveby my own demonstrations that my theories are workable--or thatthey're not. And then, most of all, I love the prairies and theopen life. It's my whim, and I follow it."

"You are very wonderful," she had murmured. And then, withstartling directness, "Are you happy?"

"As happy as I have any right to be. Happier than I have beensince childhood."

She had risen and walked to the mantelpiece; then, with an apparentchange of impulse, she had turned and faced him. He had noted thather figure was rounder than in girlhood, her complexion paler, butthe sunlight still danced in her hair, and her reckless force hadgiven way to a poise that suggested infinite resources of character.

"Frank has done well, too," she had said.

"So I have heard. I am told that he has done very well indeed."

"He has made money, and he is busy and excited over his pursuit ofsuccess--what he calls success. He has given it his life. Hethinks of nothing else--"

She had stopped suddenly, as though her tongue had trapped her intosaying more than she had intended.

"What do you think of my summer home?" she had exclaimed, abruptly."Come out and admire the sweet peas," and with a gay littleflourish she had led him into the garden. "They tell me Westernflowers have a brilliance and a fragrance which the East, with allits advantages, cannot duplicate. Is that true?"

"I believe it is. The East has greater profusion--more varieties--but the individual qualities do not seem to be so well developed."

"I see you know something of Eastern flowers," she had said, and hefancied he had caught a note of banter--or was it inquiry?--in hervoice. Then, with another abrupt change of subject, she had madehim describe his house on the hill. But he had said nothing of thewhim-room.

"I must go," he had exclaimed at length. "I left the horses tiedin the field."

"So you must. I shall let Wilson visit you frequently, if he isnot a trouble."

Then she had chosen a couple of blooms and pinned them on his coat,laughingly overriding his protest that they consorted poorly withhis costume. And she had shaken hands and said good-bye in themanner of good friends parting.

The more Grant thought of it the more was he convinced that in hercase, as in his own, the years had failed to extinguish the sparkkindled in the foothills that night so long ago. He remindedhimself continually that she was Transley's wife, and even whilegranting the irrevocability of that fact he was demanding to knowwhy Fate had created for them both an atmosphere charged withunspoken possibilities. He had turned her words over again andagain, reflecting upon the abrupt angles her speech had taken. Intheir few minutes' conversation three times she had had to make asudden tack to safer subjects. What had she meant by thatreference to Eastern and Western flowers? His answer reminded himhow well he knew. And the confession about her husband, theworshipper of success--"what he calls success"--how much tragedylay under those light words?

The valley was filled with shadow, and the level rays of the settingsun fell on the young man's face and splashed the hill-tops withgold and saffron as within his heart raged the age-old battle. . . .But as yet he felt none of its wounds. He was conscious only of awholly irrational delight.

As the next forenoon passed Grant found himself glancing withincreasing frequency toward the end of the field where the littleboy might be expected to appear. But the day wore on without signof his young friend, and the furrows which he had turned sojoyously at nine were dragging leadenly at eleven. He had notthought it possible that a child could so quickly have won a way tohis affections. He fell to wondering as to the cause of the boy'sabsence. Had Zen, after a night's reflection, decided that it waswiser not to allow the acquaintance to develop? Had Transley,returning home, placed his veto upon it? Or--and his heart pausedat this prospect--had the foot been more seriously hurt than theyhad supposed? Grant told himself that he must go over that nightand make inquiry. That would be the neighborly thing to do. . . .

But early that afternoon his heart was delighted by the sight of alittle figure skipping joyously over the furrows toward him. Hehad his hat crumpled in one hand, and his teddy-bear in the other,and his face was alive with excitement. He was puffing profuselywhen he pulled up beside the plow, and Grant stopped the team whilehe got his breath.

"My! My! What is the hurry? I see the foot is all better."

"We got a pig!" the lad gasped, when he could speak.

"A pig!"

"Yessir! A live one, too! He's awful big. A man brought him in awagon. That is why I couldn't come this morning."

Grant treated himself to a humble reflection upon the wisdom ofchildish preferments.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Eat him up, I guess. Daddy said there was enough wasted about ourhouse to keep a pig, so we got one. Aren't you going to take meup?"

"Of course. But first we must put teddy in his place."

"I'm to go home at five o'clock," the boy said, when he had gotproperly settled.

The hours slipped by all too quickly, and if the lad's presencedid not contribute to good plowing, it at least made a cheerfulplowman. It was plain that Zen had sufficient confidence in herfarmer neighbor to trust her boy in his care, and his frequentreferences to his mother had an interest for Grant which he couldnot have analyzed or explained. During the afternoon the merits ofthe pig were sung and re-sung, and at last Wilson, after kissinghis friend on the cheek and whispering, "I like you, Uncle Man-on-the-Hill," took his teddy-bear under his arm and plodded homeward.

The next morning he came again, but mournfully and slow. Therewere tear stains on the little round cheeks.

"Why, son, what had happened?" said Grant, his abundant sympathiesinstantly responding.

"Well that certainly is too bad. But then, you're going to eat thepig some day, so that will square it, won't it?"

"I guess it will," said the boy, brightening. "I never thought ofthat."

"But we must have a teddy for Prince. See, he is looking around,waiting for it." Grant folded his coat into the shape of a dummyand set it up on the hames, and all went merrily again.

That afternoon, which was Saturday, the boy came thoughtfully andwith an air of much importance. Delving into a pocket he producedan envelope, somewhat crumpled in transit. It was addressed, "TheMan on the Hill."

Grant tore it open eagerly and read this note:

"DEAR MAN-ON-THE-HILL,--That is the name Wilson calls you, soperhaps you will let me use it, too. Frank is to be home to-morrow, and will you come and have dinner with us at six? Myfather and mother will be here, and possibly one or two others.You had a clash with my men-folk once, but you will find them readyenough to make allowance for, even if they fail to understand, yourpoint of view. Do come.--ZEN.

"P.S.--It just occurs to me that your associates in your colonizationscheme may want to claim your time on Sunday. If any of them comeout, bring them along. Our table is an extension one, and itscapacity has never yet been exhausted."

Although Grant's decision was made at once he took some time forreflection before writing an acceptance. He was to enter Zen'shouse on her invitation, but under the auspices, so to speak, ofhusband and parents. That was eminently proper. Zen was asensible girl. Then there was a reference to that ancient squabblein the hay meadow. It was evidently her plan to see the hatchetburied and friendly relations established all around. Eminentlyproper and sensible.

He turned the sheet over and wrote on the back:

"DEAR ZEN,--Delighted to come. May have a couple of friends withme, one of whom you have seen before. Prepare for an appetite longdenied the joys of home cooking.--D. G."

It was not until after the child had gone home that Grantremembered he had addressed Transley's wife by her Christian name.That was the way he always thought of her, and it slipped on topaper quite naturally. Well, it couldn't be helped now.

Grant unhitched early and hurried to his house and the telephone.In a few minutes he had Linder on the line.

"Hello, Linder? I want you to go to a store for me and buy ateddy-bear."

The chuckle at the other end of the line irritated Grant. Linderhad a strange sense of humor.

"I mean it. A big teddy, with electric eyes, and a deep bassgrowl, if they make 'em that way. The best you can get. Fetch itout to-morrow afternoon, and come decently dressed, for once.Bring Murdoch along if you can pry him loose."

Grant hung up the receiver. "Stupid chap, Linder, some ways," hemuttered. "Why shouldn't I buy a teddy-bear if I want to?"

Sunday afternoon saw the arrival of Linder and Murdoch, with thelargest teddy the town afforded. "What is the big idea now?"Linder demanded, as he delivered it into Grant's hands.

"It is for a little boy I know who has been bereaved of his firstteddy by the activities of the family pig. You will renew somepleasant acquaintanceships, Linder. You remember Transley and hiswife--Zen, of the Y.D?"

"You don't say! Thanks for that tip about dressing up. I mayexplain," Linder continued, turning to Murdoch, "there was a timewhen I might have been an also-ran in the race for Y.D.'s daughter,only Transley beat me on the getaway."

"You!" Grant exclaimed, incredulously.

"You, too!" Linder returned, a great light dawning.

"Well, Mr. Grant," said Murdoch, "I brought you a good cigar,bought at the company's expense. It comes out of the organizationfund. You must be sick of those cheap cigars."

"Since the war it is nothing but Player's," Grant returned, takingthe proffered cigar. "They tell me it has revolutionized thetobacco business. However, this does smell a bit all right. Howgoes our venture, Murdoch? Have I any prospect of being impoverishedin a worthy cause?"

"None whatever. Your foreman here is spending every dollar in away to make you two in spite of your daft notion--begging yourpardon, sir--about not taking profits. The subscribers are comingalong for stock, but fingering it gently, as though they can't wellbelieve there's no catch in it. They say it doesn't look reasonable,and I tell them no more it is."

"And then they buy it?"

"Aye, they do. That's human nature. There's as many membersbooked now as can be accommodated in the first colony. I supposethey reason that they will be sure of their winter's housing,anyway."

"You don't seem to have much faith in human nature, Murdoch."

"Nor have I. Not in that kind of human nature which is alwayswanting something for nothing."

Linder's report was more cheerful. The houses and barns were builtand were now being painted, the plowing was done, and the fenceswere being run. By the use of a triangular system of survey twelvefarm homes had been centralized in one little community where acommunity building would be erected which would be used as a schoolin daytime, a motion-picture house at night, and a church onSunday. A community secretary would have his office here, andwould have charge of a select little library of fiction, poetry,biography, and works of reference. The leading periodicals dealingwith farm problems, sociology, and economics, as well as lightersubjects, would be on file. In connection with this building wouldbe an assembly-room suitable for dances, social events, andtheatricals, and equipped with a player piano and concert-sizetalking machine. Arrangements were being made for a weeklyexchange of records, for a weekly musical evening by artists fromthe city, for a semi-monthly vaudeville show, and for Sundaymeetings addressed by the best speakers on the more serious topicsof the time.

"What has surprised me in making these arrangements," Linderconfessed, "is the comparatively small outlay they involve. Thebuilding will cost no more than many communities spend on schooland church which they use thirty hours a week and three hours aweek respectively. This one can be used one hundred and sixty-eight hours a week, if needed. Lecturers on many subjects can behad for paying their expenses; in some cases they are employed bythe Government, and will come without cost. Amateur theatricalcompanies from the city will be glad to come in return for anappreciative audience and a dance afterward, with a good fill-up onsolid farm cooking. Even some of the professionals can be had onthese terms. Of course, before long we will produce our owntheatricals.

"Then there is to be a plunge bath big enough to swim in, open tomen and women alternate nights, and to children every day. Therewill be a pool-room, card-room, and refreshment buffet; also aquiet little room for women's social events, and an emergencyhospital ward. I think we should hire a trained nurse who wouldnot be too dignified to cook and serve meals when there's nobusiness doing in the hospital. You know how everyone getshankering now and then for a meal from home,--not that it's anybetter, but it's different. I suppose there are farmer's wives whodon't get a meal away from home once a year. I'm going to changeall that, if I have to turn cook myself!"

"Bully for you, Linder!" said Grant, clapping him on the shoulder."I believe you actually are enthusiastic for once."

"I understand my orders are to make the country give the city a runfor its money, and I'm going to do it, or break you. If all I'vementioned won't do it I've another great scheme in storage."

"Good! What is it?"

"I am inventing a machine that will make a noise like a trolley-carand a smell like a sewer. That will add the last touch in cityrefinements."

When the laugh over Linder's invention had subsided Murdochbroached another.

"The office work is becoming pretty heavy, Mr. Grant, and I'm nonetoo confident in the help I have. Now if I could send for MissBruce--"

"What do you think you should pay her?"

"I should say she is worth a hundred dollars a month."

"Then she must be worth two hundred. Wire her to come and starther at that figure."

CHAPTER XVIII

Promptly at six Linder drew his automobile up in front of theTransley summer home with Grant and Murdoch on board. Wilson hadbeen watching, and rushed down upon them, but before he couldclamber up on Grant a great teddy-bear was thrust into his arms andsent him, wild with delight, to his mother.

Transley and Y.D. met the guests at the gate. "How do, Grant?Glad to see you, old man," said Transley, shaking his handcordially. "The wife has had so many good words for you I amalmost jealous. What ho, Linder! By all that's wonderful! Youold prairie dog, why did you never look me up? I was beginning tothink the Boche had got you."

Grant introduced Murdoch, and Y.D. received them as cordially ashad Transley. "Glad to see you fellows back," he exclaimed. "Ial'us said the Western men 'ud put a crimp in the Kaiser, spite o'hell an' high water!"

"One thing the war has taught us," said Grant, modestly, "is thatmen are pretty much alike, whether they come from west or east ornorth or south. No race has a monopoly of heroism."

"Well, come on in," Transley beckoned, leading the way. "Dinnerwill be ready sharp on time twenty minutes late. Not being amarried man, Grant, you will not understand that reckoning. You'llhave to excuse Mrs. Transley a few minutes; she's holding down theaccelerator in the kitchen. Come in; I want you to meet Squiggs."

Squiggs proved to be a round man with huge round tortoise-shellglasses and round red face to match. He shook hands with a mannerthat suggested that in doing so he was making rather a good fellowof himself.

"We must have a little lubrication, for Y.D.'s sake," saidTransley, producing a bottle and glasses. "I suppose it was thedust on the plains that gave these old cow punchers a thirst whichnever can be slaked. These be evil days for the old-timers.Grant?"

"Not any, thanks."

"No? Well, there's no accounting for tastes. Squiggs?"

"I'm a lawyer," said Squiggs, "and as booze is now ultra vires I domy best to keep it down," and Mr. Squiggs beamed genially upon hispleasantry and the full glass in his hand.

"I take a snort when I want it and I don't care who knows it," saidY.D. "I al'us did, and I reckon I'll keep on to the finish. Itdidn't snuff me out in my youth and innocence, anyway. Just thesame, I'm admittin' it's bad medicine in onskilful hands. Here'sho!"

The glasses had just been drained when Mrs. Transley entered theroom, flushed but radiant from a strenuous half hour in thekitchen.

"Well, here you are!" she exclaimed. "So glad you could come, Mr.Grant. Why, Mr. Linder! Of all people-- This IS a pleasure. AndMr.--?"

"Mr. Murdoch," Transley supplied.

"My chief of staff; the man who persists in keeping me rich," Grantelaborated.

"Hanged if I will! I'm a guest here, and I stand on my rights,"Y.D. exploded.

"Then you must do it, Frank."

"I suppose so," said Transley, "although all I get out of a mealwhen I have to carve is splashing and profanity. You know,Squiggs, I've figured it out that this practice of requiring thenominal head of the house to carve has come down from the days whenthere wasn't usually enough to go 'round, and the carver had tomake some fine decisions and, perhaps, maintain them by force. Ithas no place under modern civilization."

"Except that someone must do it, and it's about the only householdresponsibility man has not been able to evade," said Mrs. Transley.

As they entered the dining-room Zen's mother, whiter and it seemedeven more distinguished by the years, joined them, accompanied byMrs. Squiggs, a thin woman much concerned about social status, andthe party was complete.

Transley managed the carving more skilfully than his protest mighthave suggested, and there was a lull in the conversation while thefirst demands of appetite were being satisfied.

"Yes, wise us up, old man," said Transley. "I've heard somethingof it, but never could see through it."

"It's all very simple," Grant explained. "I am providing thecapital to start a few families on farms. Instead of lending themoney directly to them I am financing a company in which eachfarmer must subscribe for stock to the value of the land he is tooccupy. His stock he will pay for with a part of the proceeds ofeach year's crop, until it is paid in full, when he becomes a paid-up shareholder, subject to no further call except a levy which maybe made for running expenses."

"And then your advances are returned to you with interest," Squiggssuggested. "A very creditable plan of benefaction; very creditable,indeed."

"No, that is not the idea. In the first place, I am accepting nointerest on my advances, and in the second place the money, whenrepaid by the shareholders, will not be returned to me, but will beused to establish another colony on the same basis, and so on--themovement will be extended from group to group."

Mr. Squiggs readjusted his large round tortoise-shell glasses.

"Do I understand that you are charging no interest?"

"Not a cent."

"Then where do YOU come in?"

"I had hoped to make it clear that I am not seeking to 'come in.'You see, the money I am doing this with is not really mine at all."

"Not yours?" cried a chorus of voices.

"No. Mr. Squiggs, you are a lawyer, and therefore a man ofperspicuity and accurate definitions. What is money?"

"You flatter me. I should say that money is a medium for theexchange of value."

"Very well. Therefore, if a man accepts money without giving valuefor it in exchange he is violating the fundamental principleunderlying the use of money. He is, in short, an economic outlaw."

"I am afraid I don't follow you."

"Let me illustrate by my own experience, and that of my family. Myfather was possessed of a piece of land which at one time hadlittle or no value. Eventually it became of great value, notthrough anything he had done, but as a result of the natural lawthat births exceed deaths. Yet he, although he had done nothing tocreate this value, was able, through a faulty economic system, topocket the proceeds. Then, as a result of the advantages which hiswealth gave him, he was able to extract from society throughout allthe remainder of his life value out of all proportion to any returnhe made for it. Finally it came down to me. Holding my peculiarbelief, which my right and left bower consider sinful and sillyrespectively, I found money forced upon me, regardless of the factthat I had given absolutely no value in exchange. Now if money isa medium for the exchange of value and I receive money withoutgiving value for it, it is plain that someone else must have partedwith money without receiving value in return. The thing isbasically immoral."

"Your father couldn't take it with him."

"But why should _I_ have it? I never contributed a finger-weightof service for it. From society the money came and to society itshould return."

"You should worry," said Transley. "Society isn't worrying overyou. Some more of the roast beef?"

"No, thank you. But to come down to date. It seems that I cannotget away from this wealth which dogs me at every turn. Beforeenlisting I had been margining certain steel stocks, purely in theordinary course of affairs. With the demands made by the war onthe steel industry my stocks went up in price and my good friendMurdoch was able to report that it had made a fortune for me whileI was overseas. . . . And we call ourselves an intelligentpeople!"

"And so we are," said Mr. Squiggs. "We stick to a system we knowto be sound. It has weathered all the gales of the past, andpromises to weather those of the future. I tell you, Grant,communism won't work. You can't get away from the principle ofindividual reward for individual effort."

"My dear fellow, that's exactly what I'm pleading for. I have nopatience with any claim that all men are equal, or capable ofrendering equal service to society, and I want payment to be madeaccording to service rendered, not according to the freaks of ahaphazard system such as I have been trying to describe."

"But how are you going to bring that golden age about?" Murdochinquired.

"By education. The first thing is to accept the principle thatwealth cannot be accepted except in exchange for full-measureservice. You, Mrs. Transley--you teach your little boy that hemust not steal. As he grows older simply widen your definition oftheft to include receiving value without giving value in exchange.When all the mothers begin teaching that principle the golden agewhich Mr. Murdoch inquires about will be in sight."

"How would you drive it home?" said Y.D. "We have too many lawsalready."

"Let us agree on that. The acceptance of this principle will makehalf the laws now cluttering our statute books unnecessary. Imerely urge that we should treat the CAUSE of our economic maladyrather than the symptoms."

"Theoretically your idea has much to commend it, but it is quiteimpracticable," Mr. Squiggs announced with some finality. "Itcould never be brought into effect."

"If a corporation can determine the value of the service renderedby each of its hundred thousand employees, why cannot a nationdetermine the value of the service rendered by each of its hundredmillion citizens?"

"THERE'S something for you to chew on, Squiggs," said Transley."You argue your case well, Grant; I believe you have our legallight rather feazed--that's the word, isn't it, Mr. Murdoch?--foronce. I confess a good deal of sympathy with your point of view,but I'm afraid you can't change human nature."

"I am not trying to do that. All that needs changing is thepopular idea of what is right and what is wrong. And that idea ischanging with a rapidity which is startling. Before the war theman who made money, by almost any means, was set up on a pedestalcalled Success. Moralists pointed to him as one to be emulated;Sunday school papers printed articles to show that any boy mightfollow in his footsteps and become great and respected. To-day,for following precisely the same practices, the nation demands thathe be thrown into prison; the Press heaps contumely upon him; hehas become an object of suspicion in the popular eye. This change,world wide and quite unforeseen, has come about in five years."

"Is that due to a new sense of right and wrong, or to just old-fashioned envy of the rich which now feels strong enough tothreaten where it used to fawn?" Y.D.'s wife asked, and Grant wasspared a hard answer by the rancher's interruption, "Hit theprofiteer as hard as you like. He's got no friends."

"That depends upon who is the profiteer--a point which no one seemsto have settled. In the cities you may even hear prosperousranchers included in that class--absurd as that must seem to you,"Grant added, with a smile to Y.D. "Require every man to giveservice according to his returns and you automatically eliminateall profiteers, large and small."

"But you will admit," said Mrs. Squiggs, "that we must have somewell-off people to foster culture and give tone to societygenerally?"

"I agree that the boy who is brought up in a home with a bath tub,and all that that stands for, is likely to be a better citizen thanthe boy who doesn't have that advantage. That's why I want everyhome to have a bath tub."

Mrs. Squiggs subsided rather heavily. In youth her Saturday nightablutions had been taken in the middle of the kitchen floor.

"I have a good deal of sympathy," said Transley, "with any movementwhich has for its purpose the betterment of human conditions. Anysuccessful man of to-day will admit, if he is frank about it, thathe owes his success as much to good luck as to good judgment. Ifyou could find a way, Grant, to take the element of luck out oflife, perhaps you would be doing a service which would justify youin keeping those millions which worry you so. But I can't see thatit makes any difference to the prosperity of a country who owns thewealth in it, so long as the wealth is there and is usefullyemployed. Money doesn't grow unless it works, and if it works itserves Society just the same as muscle does. You could put allyour wealth in a strong-box and bury it under your house up thereon the hill, and it wouldn't increase a nickel in a thousand years,but if you put it to work it makes money for you and money forother people as well. I'm a little nervous about new-fanglednotions. It's easier to wreck the ship than to build a new one,which may not sail any better. What the world needs to-day is thegospel of hard work, and everybody, rich and poor, on the job forall that's in him. That's the only way out."

"We seem to have much in common," Grant returned. "Hard work isthe only way out, and the best way to encourage hard work is tofind a system by which every man will be rewarded according to theservice rendered."

At this point Mrs. Transley arose, and the men moved out into theliving-room to chat on less contentious subjects. After a time thewomen joined them, and Grant presently found himself absorbed inconversation with the old rancher's wife. Zen seemed to pay butlittle attention to him, and for the first time he began to realizewhat consummate actresses women are. Had Transley been the mostsuspicious of husbands--and in reality his domestic vision was asguileless as that of a boy--he could have caught no glint of anysmoldering spark of the long ago. Grant found himself thinking ofthis dissembling quality as one of nature's provisions designed forthe protection of women, much as the sombre plumage of the prairiechicken protects her from the eye of the sportsman. For after allthe hunting instinct runs through all men, be the game what it may.

Before they realized how the time had flown Linder was protestingthat he must be on his way. At the gate Transley put a hand onGrant's shoulder.

"I'm prepared to admit," he said, "that there's a whole lot in thisold world that needs correcting, but I'm not sure that it can becorrected. You have a right to try out your experiments, but takea tip and keep a comfortable cache against the day when you'll wantto settle down and take things as they are. It is true and alwayshas been true that a man who is worth his salt, when he wants athing, takes it--or goes down in the attempt. The loser maysqueal, but that seems to be the path of progress. You can't beatit."

"As in the meadow of the South Y.D.," said Transley, with a smile."You remember that, Y.D.--when our friend here upset the hayingoperations?"

"Sure, I remember, but I'm not holdin' it agin him now. A deadhorse is a dead horse, an' I don't go sniffin' it."

"Perhaps I ought to say, though," Grant returned, "that I really donot know how the iron pegs got into that meadow."

"And I don't know how your haystacks got afire, but I can guess.Remember Drazk? A little locoed, an' just the crittur to pull offa fool stunt like that. When the fire swept up the valley, insteadof down, he made his get-away and has never been seen since. Ireckon likely there was someone in Landson's gang capable o'drivin' pegs without consultin' the boss."

The little group were standing in the shadow and Grant had noopportunity to notice the sudden blanching of Zen's face at themention of Drazk.

"You're wrong about his not having been seen again, Y.D.," saidGrant. "He managed to locate me somewhere in France. That remindsme, he had a message for you, Mrs. Transley. I'm afraid Drazk isas irresponsible as ever, provided he hasn't passed out, which ismore than likely."

Grant shook hands cordially with Y.D. and his wife, with Squiggsand Mrs. Squiggs, with Transley and Mrs. Transley. Any inclinationhe may have felt to linger over Zen's hand was checked by her quickwithdrawal of it, and there was something in her manner quitebeyond his understanding. He could have sworn that the self-possessed Zen Transley was actually trembling.

CHAPTER XIX

The next day Wilson paid his usual visit to the field where Grantwas plowing, and again was he the bearer of a message. With muchdifficulty he managed to extricate the envelope from a pocket.

"Dear Mr. Grant," it read, "I am so excited over a remark youdropped last night I must see you again as soon as possible. Canyou drop in to-night, say at eight. Yours,--ZEN."